Fly
by Fairies Masquerade
Summary: "She wondered how long it would take for fate to reach forth her dark finger and strike them all down, one by one, until nothing remained but ash and bone and a whisper of everything they used to be." - Sequel to 'Three Little Birds'. S4 AU, Caryl.
1. Dixon

_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing at all related to these characters or AMC's The Walking Dead, except 'the savage one' herself and this particular storyline. If I did, I'd be awesome._

_**Story Warnings:** Major Character Death, Sex, Angst, Torture, the usual. ;) _

_**Spoilers/Continuity:** This is a direct sequel to my earlier work 'Three Little Birds', which was completed before Season 4 aired. So, VERY AU here, in that Season 4, with is maddening continuity and character issues, does not exist. Huzzah. You don't have to go back and read 'Three Little Birds' to understand most of what will happen in this story, but if you haven't read it then some chunks may not make sense._

_**A/N:** Well, look at me. Remember how, when I finished 'Three Little Birds' right before the S4 premiere, I swore I was done? Then I did an epilogue for Christmas? Well, I was working on another story ('Salt and Stone', just to get my shameless bid for self promotion in) when an idea hit me. I decided to actually write the idea down for once, but about 3 paragraphs in I realized it was perfect for the TLB 'verse. And here we are again! Trust me, **no one** is more surprised by this development than I am._

* * *

She couldn't feel anything anymore. Grief, pain and exhaustion had mingled together like the puddles of dirt, snow and blood that swirled at her feet until she'd finally gone numb. She sat with his head cradled in her arms, ignoring everything around them; the ache of her mangled body, the people around them watching, the snow piling up around them or the pale glimmer of the sun peeking over the horizon. She could focus on nothing except the corpse in her arms.

_This is real. This shouldn't be real. This is real._ In the end it didn't matter how careful they'd been, how they had looked out for each other and kept each other strong. The darkness always found them.

**-3 Weeks Earlier-**

It was sunny outside; one of those postcard perfect days with the sky rich azure dotted with fluffs of white cotton candy clouds. Even the town itself was picturesque, perfect small-town Americana at it's finest. From her perch high up in the church's bell tower, Carol could see the entire town, what little there was of it. She leaned back against the wood post at her back and let her eyes drift over the empty streets. The wind was picking up, ruffling her long hair and coaxing echoes of chimes long since silenced from of the church's single bell.

Hilariously, the place was called _Dixon_. Dixon, Missouri, according to Glenn's battered Rand McNally. Carol found herself liking the little villages and townships they came across as they made their way through the Ozarks. It reminded her of Georgia, as long as you didn't miss the heat or the jungles of kudzu.

They kept to the back roads as a rule, avoiding the dangers and issues of bigger cities by bypassing them completely. It made for rougher scavenging, lean times, but years of life on the road had thickened their skin and sharpened their skills. They'd learned from each other, protected each other, push themselves forward for each other. For their family.

"Hey, Care."

Carol turned to smile at Carl as he climbed into the bell tower, his rifle strapped to his back. It had a special rig, built by Daryl, that enabled Carl to use the high powered weapon with his single arm.

"Hey yourself," she replied.

"How's it look?" Carl settled next to her at the edge of the tower, leaning back against another of the thick wooden support beams with a sigh.

"Peaceful," she answered. "It looks like it was a nice town."

"A lot of them probably were," Carl said. "Dad wants to stay here a few days, get some rest."

Rick _always_ wanted to stay a few days. Of all of them, Rick had taken least to the nomadic lifestyle they lived, dreams of finding a new home still spouting from his lips at every turn. She supposed they all believed in the dream, at least a little. It gave them something to hope for, especially the children, but in the three years that had passed since their group had crossed the border out of Georgia, they'd never found anywhere to really settle. Something always came along, whether it was walkers or people or mother nature herself, to send them scurrying back on the road.

Sometimes they argued with Rick and his impassioned pleas to stay put "just for a while". This time, though, Carol was more than ready for a break from the road.

"Not a bad idea," Carol sighed. "We need to inventory our supplies anyway."

"'Chonne said she spotted a hunting supply store a couple blocks up. Daryl wants to go check it out," Carl reported. He'd been downstairs with the others, making sure the church was secure while Carol took the first watch.

"You planning to go along?" She knew how much Carl valued being part of the important tasks set forth by the group; proof that he wasn't a burden to the others, the same lingering fear that niggled along her own spine still. _Be essential, be important. _They were so alike in so many ways, she and Carl.

"No, not this time," Carl said with a reluctant tone. Carol picked up on his pale face, the slight way he was favoring his right side._ That explains it._

"It hurts again, doesn't it." It wasn't really a question.

"Yeah," Carl nodded.

"Let me see," Carol said gently. Carl flipped the strap of his rifle rig open, letting the gun fall with a light 'clank' behind him as he pulled his tee shirt over his head. Carol scooted closer and ran her fingers gingerly around the deep, thick scars that covered the knob of Carl's shoulder. The very place where she'd sawed off his right arm by the dim orange light in a tiny wooden shed surrounded by hungry walkers three years ago.

"I'll warm up a couple of the towels by the fire when I start dinner," Carol said. "I think getting heat on it will do you some good." She pressed her thumbs lightly into the tense muscle beneath her fingers, trying to soothe the pain.

"I still reach out for things," Carl said suddenly. Carol froze, her eyes jumping back from the scarred mess to the young man's face. "With my right arm. I still try to grab things sometimes."

"Hershel once said he could feel his foot itch long after your father cut it off," she replied slowly. "I suppose it's a normal thing. I think I read somewhere… 'phantom limbs'? I'm not sure." Carol shrugged and gave Carl a small, regretful smile. She wasn't a doctor, wasn't even close, but fate had played her cards and it had been entirely up to her to perform the operation on Carl after he'd been bitten. Carol didn't know if it was luck or fate or even a long-absent God, showing up at the right moment to be considered the hero, that had saved Carl's life; she gave little credit to her own fumbling skills. _This boy should be dead. This boy should be **dead**, yet here he is. There are still miracles to be found._

"Yeah, well, whatever it is, it's a bitch," Carl grumbled.

"There's probably a pharmacy in town," Carol said. "Maybe we'll find something. How do you feel about expired Tylenol?"

"You know me," Carl grinned. "It won't kill me, right?"

"Well, if it doesn't kill you it'll probably make you woozy as hell," Carol said. "Consider it an adventure."

"Bring it on!" Carl cheered. "I love a good adventure."

"Spaz," Carol laughed. She helped Carl work himself back into his shirt, taking a moment to run a gentle finger along the extra seam where she'd sewn the sleeve into the shirt. She'd done it with all of his shirts to avoid the empty sleeve flapping in the wind, something Carl detested.

"Care?"

"Yeah?"

"Go on, get down there," Carl said as he nudged her shoulder. "I got this." _Don't get lost in your own head today. I'm right here._

Daryl liked to joke that she could read his mind, so often they were on the same wavelength, but that Carol, Carl and Glenn had their own _language_. She supposed they did, the way soldiers in war learn to communicate in code, with as few words as possible.

"I know you do." Carol ran a hand through Carl's thick mop of unruly hair. The years had turned him from a hot headed boy to a tall, lean young man, the spitting image of his father. In trying to do right for Carl after Lori's death, she'd grown to love Carl like he was her own, in all the same ways she'd loved Sophia. She loved Judith and Susannah, but Carl had settled into a space in her heart she didn't realize she'd had, right next to Sophia and Daryl. They never spoke of it out loud; it was just something that was, accepted by all without comment or question.

Carol dropped a kiss on top of Carl's head and went downstairs, leaving Carl to keep watch over the empty town. She made her way down the narrow, winding stairs, wondering where Daryl had gotten himself to. She opened the door and realized she'd stumbled on complete chaos.

_"Susannah Rhee! Come back here this instant!"_

Carol paused in the doorway to watch the madness unfolding in the church foyer. Maggie was chasing around her three year old daughter, Susannah. Maggie had been right about the baby being a girl and still gloated over that fact to this day. Susannah was a Rhee, with Glenn's dark hair and almond eyes, but with all the fiery temperament and sass of her mother. Only for her daddy would she be still and behave, but the second Glenn left the room she turned into a whirlwind of activity and destruction. As such, Glenn called Susannah his little angel; the rest of them teasingly called her 'the savage one'.

She didn't see Glenn, but a step further into the room showed Judith sprawled on the floor next to the dusty sofa, scribbling on a wrinkled piece of paper.

"Where'd you find crayons, Jude?" Carol asked as she knelt down next to the girl. Judith didn't answer, just pointed to a nearby cabinet with her free hand, the tip of her little pink tongue sticking out as she focused intently on her drawing. Carol sighed and clambered to her feet again. Judith had grown into a quiet, but happy enough child, so they thought. She had days where she didn't like to talk much, which worried Rick; those days usually saw Judith somewhere in the vicinity of Daryl, silently drawing or moving supplies or anything else that kept her near him. Carol didn't worry too much as long as Judith stayed with Daryl. The bond between them was undeniable, had been since the child's first day in the world, a day Carol herself had missed.

She didn't see Rick, Glenn, Daryl or Michonne anywhere. Deciding to ignore the chaos erupting, Carol moved to the heavy wooden doors and let herself into the chapel. They'd swept the building upon arrival, so she knew she was safe, but it didn't stop the shivers creeping along her skin. The room was dark, the only light filtering in from outside through stained glass windows coated with several years worth of dust and grime. The pews were a dark wood, ash or stained oak; Carol couldn't tell. She moved down the center aisle along the faded blue carpet and stop at the base of the altar itself, staring up at the huge cross hung dead center on the wall.

There was a time in her life when Carol had believed in God, could feel the power of His spirit in the hallowed halls of the parish church she'd attended. She believed that someday, if she was proven worthy, she'd be saved by His reedeming grace. So she'd tried to live right and obey her husband, as her pastor had advised, and she'd prayed. Prayed for rescue from her life, for the health and welfare of her family, for Ed's death. Carol had believed, for a time, that her prayer had been answered. It took one day, one moment, one herd on a cluttered stretch of highway for her to realize what a damn fool she was. She'd buried her daughter, thrown away her cross and her wedding ring and did her best to learn how to live on her own terms.

There was nothing in this room that could save them, nothing here that loved them. Whatever power or fate had saved Carl's life had passed over too many others for Carol to be concerned over the random interventions of a higher deity anymore. They were on their own.

She watched the dust motes dance around in the streams of light coming in through the windows; their color sickly, distorted from the grime that coated them. She could hear, for a moment, the continuing shrieks of Susannah tormenting her mother, before letting the background noise fade into the distance again. Her thoughts wandered, from lost children to grownup children, and all the years in between. Carol crossed her arms over her chest, the surge of emotions dredged up from too many memories hitting her all at once and setting her on edge. She was tense all over, her flesh drawn too tight over her bones, and her head was starting to ache. _It must be the room._ She still couldn't bring herself to move, worried that the sudden pounding in her skull was going to make her vomit.

"Ya worry too much."

Carol sighed, half the tension leaving her body at once as she felt his hands settle at her hips and his nose nuzzle into her hair. Healed, instantly, by nothing more that the sound of his voice.

"How'd you know?" she asked as she leaned back into him.

"I know you," Daryl answered, his voice little more than a soft rumble that echoed through her from her head to her toes. _And he thinks **I'm** the mind reader?_ She closed her eyes and let Daryl fold his arms around her, pulling her in tight to whisper in her ear. "Hi, baby."

"Hi, love." Her greeting was just as soft, a simple breath that skated into the air around them and was gone. "Where'd you go?"

"Outside a bit. Rick wanted ta look at settlin' in for a while."

"Carl told me."

"Rick…" Daryl sighed heavily, a sure sign that things were tense between the two again today. "Thinks this place might be safe."

"Surprising absolutely _no one_," Carol said, turning in his embrace and looping her arms around his neck. Daryl smirked at her and leaned down to give her a small, sweet kiss.

"Whatcha think?"

"You already know what I think," Carol answered as she fiddled with a loose thread on Daryl's tattered collar. It was a conversation they'd had many times before. A safe place, a permanent home? No, Carol didn't believe in such things anymore. She found she didn't need them like she used to. Daryl was her home, her haven and her anchor and he told her with every touch, every kiss, every glance in her direction, that she was his as well.

Carol forgot her tension, her maudlin thoughts left in the dust as she leaned into the curve of his body, their lips meeting over and over in soft, slow kisses that left her breathless. As long as they had each other, she knew they'd be all right.

**-Now-**

It was the quiet that grabbed her attention more than anything else, an eerie stillness so full of so many things that if it had a sound, it would be full of screams. It made her aware, more than she had been for however long she'd sat here holding a dead man in her arms. The sun was up, still low in the sky but climbing fast, making the fresh snow glisten and sparkle all along the plains.

She could smell smoke in the air; they weren't too far yet from the remains of the fort. She shuddered at the thought._ Too close. They could still be coming._

Her hand slid up to his chest to rest over his heart, one last desperate attempt to convince herself that there was any hint of life left in him, but there was nothing beneath her hand but the absolutely stillness of the dead. She didn't have a weapon on her; wasn't sure if any of them did. The event of the night were already a blur to her, lost in the wake of the the final stroke of fate that had cost her another member of her family.

She finally raised her eyes from the dead man, instantly locking on a pair of perfect, ocean blue eyes. Eyes that had shown her love, given her comfort. Eyes that now shared her grief, reflected her own agony back to her tenfold. Eyes that knew exactly what she was thinking now and shared all the horror contained in that one, simple, _terrifying_ thought.

_He's going to turn._

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_**A/N 2:** Dixon, MO is a real place. I have family there and it is about as small town Americana as you can get. Susannah Rhee is based on my niece Vesper, whom we affectionately call "the savage toddler". And no, the dead man is not who you expect. These aren't the droids you're looking for. ;)_


	2. Slow

_**A/N:** Woohoo! I guess people are psyched for this one. It's gonna be a bumpy ride, just like last time, but you guys know I'll do my best to make it worthwhile._

_Speaking of things that are worthwhile, this chapter has Caryl sex. If that ain't your thing, you may want to skip this. ;) My sincerest thanks to Peta2 for her review of my novice smut writing skills. Mwah!_

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**Chapter 2**

**-Now-**

She was coated in blood, hot and sticky but cooling fast in the morning air. Some of it was hers, most of it wasn't. Her vision was narrowed, blurry with exhaustion, pain and dehydration until all she could see was the swirl of red and a blinding white glare that burned her eyes; the light from the rising sun reflecting every brighter from the thick coat of snow that covered the ground as far as the eye could see. The wind whipped around her, turning the exposed bits of her skin to ice in it's wake. Her side burned, the pain from her shattered ribs screaming through her with each breath as the adrenaline started to wear off and her body took notice of itself. Her mangled hand, wrapped in thick bandages smeared crimson, was a dull weight dragging down her whole right side.

She knew what they needed to do. They needed to _move_, find shelter, hide, get warm and tend to their wounds. She just wasn't sure she had the strength left in her to push any further.

**-3 Weeks Earlier-**

"Care!"

Carol smiled at Glenn as he pushed his way into the church's small kitchen, nearly dropping over the small candle he carried to light his way.

Electricity was a thing of the past, as was any hope of indoor plumbing. They bathed when they could in rivers and streams, washed what few clothes they carried with the same soap they scrubbed their bodies with and laid them flat to dry in the sun. Daryl had taught them all how to navigate by the sun and, the few times they'd traveled at night, the stars. Candles and matches were precious, packed carefully and used sparingly. They didn't even start fires anymore unless they felt it was absolutely necessary.

Michonne had found an old barbeque set up behind the church, covered in grime an inch thick, as well as several unopened bags of cooking charcoal. They'd taken advantage of it, dragging everything into the kitchen and leaving a window cracked to air the room of smoke and fumes to give themselves a warm meal for dinner for once. Now Carol was warming up a couple of the threadbare hand towels they had on hand over the last warm embers of that night's charcoal rations.

"I thought you had watch?" she asked.

"I do," Glenn sighed. "Daryl said he couldn't sleep, so we switched."

"Ah."

Just about everyone was in bed, tucked in the darkest corners of the little church to get as much rest as they could. They kept a faithful watch rotation going at all times. Carol could count on one hand the number of times they'd come across people in the years since they left Georgia: a pair of nomads wandering through the mountains in West Virginia with nothing more than school backpacks on their shoulders had spend one night with them shortly after Maggie had given birth to Susannah. The pair had been gone by sunrise, nothing left behind but a quick note of thanks scrawled on the back of a tattered envelope. There had been a camp of sorts in Indiana, set up in an old RV park but too reminiscent of Woodbury for most of them to feel comfortable accepting the invitation to stay and settle roots. The last group had been a pack of scavengers who had stumbled upon their camp in the night somewhere around the Tennessee border. She still remembered Rick's cry of warning startling them all from their sleep and sending them scrambling for their weapons, the impromptu pitch battle in the black of night ending just before sunrise with the scavengers dead and the rest of them in a fit of near hysteria that would take days to subside.

That had been a year ago. A year of seeing no strange faces, of hearing no new voices other than the grotesque grunts of the dead. Sometimes Carol wondered if they really were the only people left alive.

It wasn't so hard to believe.

"How's the savage one?" Carol asked with a smile. Glenn heaved an over dramatic sigh of exasperation.

"She's not 'the savage one'," Glenn insisted for the millionth time. "Why do you guys insist on torturing me with that?"

"Oh, _honey_," Carol laughed.

"Forget I said anything." Glenn was laughing too. "Don't answer, Care. Don't answer."

She usually laughed when she talked to Glenn. Making each other laugh even under the worst situations was their thing. They teased each other mercilessly and told insane jokes that only the two of them ever seemed to understand. On the days when one of them seemed too distant from the rest, the other would simply sit at their side, occasionally commenting on this and that. A quiet reminder that neither of them was alone.

Carl was something to be protected, cherished. Glenn was a little brother, loveable and strong.

"So whatcha think?" Glenn asked.

"This place?"

Glenn nodded, quietly jumping in to help clean up the last of the mess as Carol shrugged.

"It'll serve for a couple of days, I suppose."

"Yeah," Glenn sighed.

"Let me guess. Rick?"

"You know how he gets," Glenn said as he packed up the last bits of charcoal.

"I know. That doesn't mean I want to talk about it tonight," Carol said. Glenn cocked his head at her, arching his eyebrow in silent question. "I just want to sleep. That's all. It's been a long couple of days."

"Are you-"

"Not tonight, Glenn," Carol said gently but firmly. "Please?"

"Fine. This isn't over."

"It never is with you. Nosy," Carol smiled as she gathered up the warm towels, enjoying the heat seeping into her skin. Glen smiled and slung an arm around her shoulders, picking up his candle on their way as they moved into the dark halls of the little church.

"We're here," Glenn whispered as he stopped outside a door labeled 'chaplain'. "I think Daryl moved your stuff down the hall."

Carol smiled to herself in the dark. It was a rare treat for them to find anywhere to stay big enough to give them all space from each other; Daryl got particularly excited when actual doors that closed were involved. They all guarded their private time, rare and infinitely precious as the years had passed on. They had no secrets from each other anymore and nobody really cared. It was the price for staying alive.

She waited for Glenn to tiptoe into the room where his wife and daughter were already sleeping before making her way down the hall, silent as a shadow, until she found the cracked door that hid the Grimes clan. She knocked twice, waiting for Rick's hoarse 'come in' before she pushed her way inside.

Rick was sitting on his sleeping bag with Judith wrapped up in his arms, her sweet face nuzzled against his chest, nearly asleep. Carl was stretched out on his own bag, shirt off and pulling at his shoulder with his hand, his pain obvious. Carol held up the armful of towels and smiled.

"Oh _thank god_," Carl moaned. "Gimme."

"Well hello to you too, sunshine," Carol whispered as she knelt down next to Carl. Folding the shorter of the towels just so and pressing it against the gnarled flesh, she used the other two towels as a wrap to bind everything together, tying them in a knot at Carl's chest. Carl let out a long groan and sank back to lie flat on his sleeping bag, a weary smile on his face.

"Thanks, Care," he whispered.

"Of course," she replied. She brushed her hand across his sweat soaked forehead, silently wishing she could do more to relieve him of the pain. Rick simply nodded at her as she stood to go, most of his attention on the sleeping child in his arms.

Carol closed their door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh, bone tired from the long day. She wanted nothing more than to sleep curled in the warm nest of Daryl's arms but she wasn't even sure where she was sleeping. Grimacing slightly at the ache in her overworked muscles, she climbed the winding staircase to the belltower, smiling at the wall of fresh, clean night air that wafted over her the second she opened the door.

She saw him instantly, framed by the dim light of the half moon high in the sky and she took a moment to just stare, amazed again at how far they'd come together. The road had taken its toll on him like it had all of them, leaving him with more grey in his hair and deepening the lines on his face. He'd mentioned recently his left knee pained him at the end of the days when they were more active than usual now. His leather vest was faded to a black-turning-grey now, not the rich black leather it had been when they first met, and the back had faded, weathered from the elements until they were little more than an outline that barely held the shape of the full angel wings they used to be. Those blue eyes of his were still sharp as a hawk's and he was still strong as ever, if just a hair slower.

"Gonna stare at me all night or ya gonna come sit with me?" The low, mocking growl reached out to her through the still quiet air, making her smile. _He always knows._ She crossed the length of the tower quickly, skirting around the hulking shadow of the bell to settle herself at his side.

"Thought you'd be sleepin' by now," Daryl said softly.

"I don't know where you put our stuff," she laughed. She could just make out the amused grin that crept onto his face and knew if there was more light, she'd see the familiar blush tint his cheeks.

"Anything out there?" Carol asked quietly as she leaned her head on Daryl's shoulder. She felt him press his cheek to her hair, nuzzling his nose in and breathing deep.

"Nothin' stirrin' round here," he murmured. "'Cept maybe me."

Carol chuckled and snuggled further into the warmth Daryl's body offered, letting a hand slip under his shirt to slide along the smooth, furred planes of his stomach. His arm was draped around her, the tips of his fingers dipping just beneath the collar of her shirt to idly graze the swell of her breast.

They looked out at the little town, the buildings and streets where people had once lived and walked nothing more than a dark huddle of blurred shapes and shadows in the night. The air was absolutely still, not even the slightest breeze to ruffle the leaves in the trees. Carol just let the silence blanket her, taking small joy in the peace of the night and half wondering if they could just sleep up here, when she felt Daryl's lips on her forehead. He moved down her face inch by inch, soft butterfly kisses between her eyes and along the slope of her nose before teasing her lips with quick little nips that left her craving more in seconds, all thoughts of sleep swept from her mind and leaving only him in it's wake.

"Daryl," she breathed. He caved then, claiming her lips and sliding his tongue, sweet and warm, into her mouth. Carol let her hand sweep up his chest, tweaking a flat, ruddy nippe with nimble fingers. She felt him push back against her and she let him move them, scooting back from the edge of the tower. His hands were unbuttoning the worn blue flannel and peeling it from her as slowly and carefully as a child unwrapping his first Christmas present. It never failed to make her shiver, the constant play of passion, awe and tenderness Daryl showed her every time they made love. As if, even now, he didn't quite believe she was really his to have.

His lips moved to her neck, laving the sensitive skin with his tongue, sucking hard on the top just south of her ear that made her toes curl in her boots. Her fingers moved on their own, tracing every inch of him she could reach beneath the confines of his shirt and vest, thrilling in the steady thump of his heart beating beneath her hand. It was only his hands at her belt that jolted Carol back to some semblance of reality.

"Here?" she whispered in his ear.

"Here," he groaned. "_Please_, baby. Here." She couldn't refuse him. She never could.

He pulled at the hem of her shirt, pushing it up her stomach, over her breasts and pausing just long enough to let her untangle her hands from him so he could slide up up her arms and toss it to the side, leaving her bare. The cool air tightened her nipples and Daryl fell on her with a moan, licking and lapping at the pebbled berries until Carol thought she might scream if he didn't suck them. Her hands scrabbled for purchase along the supple leather covering his broad shoulders until Daryl growled and wrenched his shirts and vest over his head in one go, pushing them out of the way so he could return to worshipping at her teat, finally sucking hard at her. She shuddered, spearing her fingers through his hair, holding him in place while she bit her lip so she wouldn't scream. The answering heat pulled at her belly and down between her legs and she rubbed her thighs together, desperate for friction.

Carol grabbed him by his shoulders and flipped them, all heat and aching need bursting through her, quickly shifting to straddle his legs while her fingers fought with his belt. He stopped her before she could finish sliding the worn strip of leather through the tarnished buckle, his fingers curling around both of her slender wrists as he pushed himself up with his free arm.

"Shh," he crooned softly. "Slow, baby. Slow."

Fingers pulled and prodded until every scrap of fabric was gone, nothing between them but miles of skin calling out for touch of tongue and teeth and lips and fingers. Nothing was missed in their careful exploration of each other, memorizing for the hundredth time every dip and curve, swell and mound.

"Slow," Carol gasped as Daryl pushed her onto her back again and teased her clit with the soft rounded tip of his cock. She could just make out the sky beyond the edge of the tower roof. The stars were starting to swirl and dance as she grew dizzy with lust and want. "Slow. Slow. Here, love."

"Slow," Daryl groaned in her ear as he pushed into her. "Fuck. Oh, fuck. _Carol_."

They became shadows in the shadows, dancing quietly above a world gone cold, merging together until she couldn't tell anymore where she stopped and he began.

**-NOW-**

It was nothing more than a twitch of a single finger, so slight she could almost have imagined it. It was enough. She raised her eyes from the corpse in her lap to meet those blue eyes, so full of anguish it nearly broke her all over again. When she spoke, her throat burned raw and thick as if she hadn't spoken for a hundred years.

"I need a knife."


	3. Unsettled

**_A/N: _**_Sorry this took so long! 'Mad City' has been dominating my muse for a while. Here we go again! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. Your words of encouragement mean the world to me._

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**Chapter 3: Unsettled**

**-NOW-**

"I need a knife."

They were running out of time. She wasn't sure if she'd imagined the twitch before, but the faint shudder rolling through the body in her arms was definitely real. Shock and grief had flitted time away without being noticed and now they only had seconds left. She knew, deep in her bones, that if he turned in her arms, if she had to see the those sweet brown eyes turned murky and _hungry_, if she had to hear the awful rattle of death in his throat, she would go utterly stark raving mad.

**-3 Weeks Earlier-**

Carol had never really gotten used to the horribly unsettling feeling she got every time they came across a town to scavenge. She'd thought it was bad in the beginning, when the signs of civilization were still familiar, still warm, each house waiting patiently for it's owners to return and pick up their lives where they left off. When all of them still had dreams of rescue, somehow, of finding a way back to the lives they'd lead before. She supposed it had made sense then, but in the face of the world today, it seemed nothing more than a child's fancy.

It was another gorgeous day, full of blue skies dotted with puffy white clouds and birds chirping their cheerful song. They walked, careful and quiet, down the hobbled remains of a sidewalk that was becoming more grass than anything else. Great, long blades sprouted shin-high from cracks and holes in the worn, decaying concrete, spotted here and there with late blooming dandelions and weeds that waved gently in the breeze that was a shade too cold to be truly pleasant; a hint of ice on the wind, the omen that foretold of winter, and snow, on the horizon. _We're not ready. _

Everywhere she looked, gardens too long untended grew thick and wild like something from a dark fairytale; vines crawled down walls and covered roofs until whole buildings nearly disappeared beneath them. Inches of dust and dirt covered fences and doors, shattered, grimey windows stared blankly from deserted buildings like a hundred dead eyes and abandoned cars left scattered haphazardly along the road seemed more like the remains of a great ancient civilization than something familiar anymore. They'd been traveling on foot for eight months now and Carol had the feeling the days of travel by automobile were behind them for good. _We are ghosts of a time that doesn't exist anymore._

"And never will again," she murmured aloud.

"Hm?" Michonne was on her left, katana drawn and ready at her side as it always was.

"Nothing." Carol shook her head, smiling ruefully. "I'm being maudlin. Ignore me."

"Ah, one of _those_ days," Michonne laughed quietly.

Daryl was on point and Glenn took up the rear of their little quartet. The rest had stayed behind at the church, securing their shelter and watching the kids. She had her empty pack on her shoulders, ready for supplies. The weathered had been taped and sewn many times and still felt too thin, too ready to snap and break.

"I need a new pack," Carol muttered.

"Should be able to find something at the store," Michonne replied. "Maybe."

"Maybe."

They could have raided hospitals or schools, grocery stores or shopping malls. Carol knew that within those places lurked a potential bounty of untouched supplies ready for the taking. The terrifying part was getting past the hordes of walkers that lurked within these areas that had been so densely populated before the fall. Walkers were hungrier, more desperate as their food supply grew scarce. They'd tried, eight months ago, to raid a Costco, with near disastrous results. Barely inside the front doors, they were swarmed with a host of creatures that resembled little more than walking skeletons. One, pinned to a wall by tipped vending machine on it's arm, had gone so ferocious at the site of them that it had savagely ripped itself free, the threadbare remains of dried out muscle and sinew shredding like tissue paper as the arm had pulled free from it's socket. The newly one armed creature had lunged for Carol; she'd been quick with her knife, but only just. Daryl's panic had been a living, tangible thing that left them both so distracted Michonne had thrown them out of the building to keep watch while the rest of them scavenged. It was a failure of near epic proportions as they'd had to turn and flee a veritable _army_ of the undead that had been so long hidden away inside.

It had been the same, over and over as time had marched on. It was the worst with the oldest walkers, the ones who'd been trampling around for years now, weathered and withered away to something truly monstrous and driven only by the unceasing desire to feed. So they avoided areas that could have been ripe for plucking and tried their best to make do with what they could, and what nature could provide.

"Care?"

Glenn, jogging ahead to be at her side. Wordlessly, seamlessly, Michonne fell back to take up the rear, the natural shift in formation the result of years of traveling together, surviving together.

"What's up, buttercup?" She always bantered with Glenn. It was fun, light and silly in a world that didn't give them much. She was surprised today when Glenn didn't smile back.

"I have a weird feeling," Glenn sighed as he ran a hand through his mop of black hair. It was nearly as long as Daryl's now. He looked pale, peaked and tired, as they all did, but there was an underlying tension on his face that plucked at her nerves. Something old, something that reminded her of their days on the road together, just them and Carl. It was enough that Carol let loose a soft, short whistle, the signal for Daryl to stop their procession.

He was at her side in seconds, crossbow lowered but held tight in his hand.

"What?"

"I don't know," Carol answered honestly. "Glenn?"

Glenn was her brother, her best friend after Daryl. She knew him, knew more about his troubles and his relationship with Maggie than she thought the other woman was aware of, and she knew that face. She just didn't know what was causing it.

Michonne was scanning the streets, her katana drawn as she slowly circled the trio. Carol could tell by the tilt of her head she was listening, as she should.

"I can't explain it," Glenn said slowly. "It's just a feeling."

"A bad one?" Carol said.

"Do you remember the tornado?"

It was a silly question. Glenn knew she remembered the tornado as well as he did. She had nightmares about that day: the attack, the swarm of walkers descending on their home like the angriest of bees, the wind and rain and that horrible sky.

"You know I do."

Daryl was quiet, watching them talk with what Carol called his hunter's eye: that narrow, focused gaze that saw more than he ever let on. Her closeness with Glenn and Carl had never once bothered Daryl. He'd never asked her to explain or change the nature of her relationship with them like Maggie had. Daryl seemed to know instinctively that there were places the three of them had gone that he could not follow. He simply accepted it for what it was, and loved her all the same.

"It's that same feeling. Like we had in the watch tower."

She knew what he meant. The tornado, with all it represented to Carol, Glenn and Carl, was something that had never really been discussed with the others. It was so much more than just a freak twister to Carol. She wasn't sure there were words for it, but then, she'd never really tried. She felt it now, that sense of _something coming _that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Automatically, her eyes flicked up to check the sky; expecting to see green, she was almost shocked at the perfect, vivid, _happy _blue of the early afternoon.

"Do we go back?" Daryl asked softly. She knew in an instant a single nod from her would be enough, that he trusted her instincts and her judgement enough to call off the search for supplies and get them back to their shelter without anything more from her. The absolute trust he had in her threatened to overwhelm her at times. It was one thing to have her place that faith in him. He was Daryl: hunter, tracker, protector, who'd provided them with safety and food and taken care of them for so long that to trust in him came as naturally to her as breathing. To have that same faith returned to _her_, of all people, was no small thing. _Lord, how I love this man._

Carol tilted her head back, closing her eyes for a moment against the glare as the sun peaked over the rooftops on its daily journey across the sky. There were things they _needed_ to gather, especially with winter coming. She still had that unsettled feeling skirting down the nerves of her spine. She looked at Glenn, who shrugged helplessly. It was her call.

"If we move fast, we should be all right. But I _really_ want to get off of this road."

Daryl nodded and hefted his crossbow, moving to take the point position again.

"Let's make this quick then," Michonne said. She reached out to elbow Carol's shoulder with a small smile that Carol returned with a nudge of her own. _Move fast, take what you need. Please, let us find something._

They'd made it a hundred yards down the road. This part of the street was thick with tall magnolia trees that dusted the road scattered leaves and late blooms. She could see the gates of the city park at the end of the block. The pharmacy they'd been heading towards was just a few steps away when the clench of Glenn's fingers, clammy and trembling, froze her in her tracks. Her vision was filled with the faded wings on Daryl's vest as he stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body and his crossbow as the first of the shadowy figures emerged from between the trees.

**-NOW-**

"Nobody's got one, baby." His voice was so quiet, barely more than a whisper on the wind, but it was enough to cut through the stillness around them like a knife. _Of course not._ They'd all been stripped of their weapons and supplies weeks ago.

Her heart sank as she heard the first unmistakable sound of a soft, slow rattle deep in the throat of the corpse in her arms.

_Oh, Christ, this is actually happening. What do I do?_


End file.
